


Parked Sparked

by sweetiejelly



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP; Luke and Noah parks and sparks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parked Sparked

**Author's Note:**

> nouveau_monday posted a prompt. Or really, it was 50 prompts. ladysonsie asked me to write something. I took five of the prompts: Summer, Lips, Belong, Innocence, Longing and wrote this. This is for you two. Thanks for everything.

Luke’s lips are summer lips. That’s what Noah thinks. They’re always moist, like they’ve been recently licked. Wet wet wet.

Luke’s arms belong around Noah’s neck; his hands in Noah’s hair; his tongue in Noah’s mouth. Noah gladly gives his heart for this. Fair trade.

When Luke lights up, he lights all the way up, from the rise of his toes to the squint of his nose to the wink in his eyes. Innocence, Noah thinks. Arousing innocence.

Across the dinner table, across the halls, maybe across the galaxy, Noah thinks, there is always a part of him longing, longing to belong to Luke, longing for those lovely lips, that lovely innocence.

They tangled their limbs in the hallways this morning, one going to, one coming from the showers. They untangled a kiss, doubled a moan.

A hand on a thigh at breakfast, the skim breaking ripples (goose bumps) across his heart.

They met again between classes – journalism, film making – trading words. “Love you.” “Love you, too.” “Later? Go for a drive?” “Yes. Soon.”

Soon was eventually now. And now Luke rummages through his backpack, heart clocking in faster than the truck. Eighty miles per hour? Please. We’re talking a continuous squeeze so hard it almost hurts. Luke finds the package he’d prepared months in advance, just in case.

Noah is trying not to look but he looks. Luke is still there. He has a bag of things. Noah steps on the accelerator, tries to breathe.

They reach finally their destination of nowhere. The rain is coming down hard, so hard they can hardly see. Noah stops the truck. Luke ponders the rhyming of truck, fuck, rain, strain.

Noah’s hands are on Luke’s hips, pulling him closer, almost spilling him on his lap. He can’t lap up enough of Luke, enough of his bright blond summer lips.

Luke’s torn between floating off slowly to some classical tunes or fucking frantically to hard, hard rock. Noah decides for them, turns to a sunny station crooning sappy soft rock.

They’ve done this before, this making out, lots of tongue. But when Luke bends his hand into a hold, holds Noah through his jean, they both groan. And then Noah’s holding Luke back. And they’re hugging in this new way and then they’re undoing each other’s pants, undoing each other’s hearts.

They come quickly the first time, quick like the rain, quick like the rhyme of the song on the radio.

During commercial, they’ve moved on to a new way of kissing, the kind that sucks them dry of thoughts, yet sucks them wet with come.

A new song fills the truck, its soft ballad strains matching their soft looks. Luke takes thing number one out of the bag. Noah’s breath quickens, his tongue darts out to lick a lip. His?

Luke’s hand is gliding across Noah, sliding open new spaces. Noah’s hands are wrapped around Luke’s back, kneading, needing until Luke’s sure he’d rise soon. They both will.

Noah’s hip’s lifting off the seat on its own beat. He grips Luke’s hip closer. Luke takes thing number two out of the bag. Noah stops breathing, waits with his eyes open.

It’s insane, like trying to slip a hand between two atoms. There’s just not enough space. _Fuck fuck fuck._ And yet the hand fits. Eventually. And Noah lives to hear Luke murmuring every term of endearment he’d ever heard, and some he’d never heard. He murmurs something back. It sounds like “move” or “please move” or “God Luke, please move.”

Anyhow, Luke starts moving. And it’s more moving than the song on the radio. It moves Noah right off his seat. It moves him until everything’s a blur like the rain. He couldn’t have told you his name. Just Luke’s. _“GodLuke. OhLuke. LukeLukeLuke.”_

They lay like kittens collapsed in a heap. Noah drags his cheek across the top of Luke’s head, feels the soft curls against his lips, curls his lips.

Luke’s no longer “innocent,” yet the way he drags the pad of his fingers straight down Noah’s chest and then circling around to form a heart. Well, it just stole Noah’s heart. All over again.

The storm picks up intensity outside and the sky rips out in lightning, flashing, flashing. But none of that drummed up as much voltage as when Luke flashed Noah a shy smile and Noah smiled back.


End file.
